


The Long Night

by Accidentallytechohazardous, KissedByNightshade



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Self-Acceptance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissedByNightshade/pseuds/KissedByNightshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could've stayed safe if she stayed in Hueco Mundo. But Orihime lived through one war before; this time, she isn't going to let her friends risk their lives alone.</p><p>An alternate Thousand Year Blood War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fire [Orihime]

**Author's Note:**

> A fix-it fic where Orihime accompanies Ichigo to save Soul Society during the first Quincy invasion. Co-written by kissedbynightshade (Orihime chapters) and Accidentallytechnohazardous (Rukia chapters).

There’s a fire somewhere; the air is acrid with it. The sky, blackened by night, is tinged with the red-grey glow of fire on smoke, and the rain only makes the smell that much more poignant. The whole of the Seireitei must be burning, or near enough to make no matter. 

Overall, Orihime decides, it is not all that different from Hueco Mundo. In her experience, Hueco Mundo always smells like something burning.  

As Orihime runs down a street, formerly pristine, now laden with rubble and _corpses_ , she’s still caught in _garganta_ , her mind echoing the shouts as she clutches at Ichigo’s sleeve. No escape, no _time_ , and yet they are trapped. Darkness all around her then, darkness all around her now, and the shouts of shinigami fill her ears. 

_Help!_

Rainwater fills her eyes. She doesn’t dare close them, nor does she stop sprinting.

      _No, no!_  
_God, it hurts!_

There’s no one moving in the whole street, not under the rubble or on top of it. She can’t afford to stop; she can’t afford to waste her strength here.

                _Stay back! I’ll kill you, I’ll–_  
_What did you do?!_

She slips in a puddle and falls with a cry, her knee scraping the ground. She gets back up slowly; her hair sticks to her neck and her cheek.

      _Where’s the lieutenant?_

_Shit!_

She pauses to rest against a crumbling wall.

Once they’d left  _garganta_ , Ichigo had split off immediately. She’d tried to follow, but she wasn’t fast enough. Maybe it was for the better, though; if Ichigo was going to find Rukia and Renji and Byakuya, then that might be the heart of battle, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted protecting her.

A liability. Again.

Shouts at the end of the street make her look up sharply. The rain is falling harder now — less of a drizzle, more of a downpour — but she can still see a group of shinigami fanning out, trying to stop someone, trying to defend… 

But they’re falling, screaming, like they’ve been struck in the kneecaps. Like the zanpakuto in their hands are toothpicks. And then they’re silent, silent and still. _Unconscious? Dead?_

_Is that really a Quincy they’re fighting? A Quincy like Ishida-kun?_  

She’s a quarter of the way to them when the sound of feet scraping the earth behind her makes her turn back. “You’re not a shinigami… unlucky day for you, then!"

The grin of a white-uniformed man with a mohawk (plastered against one side of his face by the rain) freezes her questions in her mouth, as well as the blood in the rest of her body. Santen Kesshun surrounds her before he gets the next words out of his mouth.

“Burner Finger One!"

An explosion of heat and steam against her shield. Nothing strikes through, but the flames ricochet and hit a nearby building, causing a tumble of dusty beams and plaster. As the debris rains down over her shield, another set of flames engulf the shield.

“Huh? Burner Finger didn’t work? That’s some trick you got up your sleeve, kid!” There’s too much smoke to see him, but he sounds close, and Orihime doesn’t dare lower her shield, not even as she feels her energy draining. “I wonder if it’ll work with _two_  fingers!"

Another explosion of light and heat, and Orihime can feel herself straining against the flames. Another, and her shield shatters.

_If I stay here, if I keep fighting him, I’m going to die._

So she turns and she runs. She runs and she runs. Straight past the shinigami dead on the ground, blood all around their mouths and mixing with soil and rainwater. Straight past a demolished structure that looks as if a bomb exploded in its bower. She runs and does not look back, and she only stops when she’s all alone again.

 

 

* * *

   

   

As she gets closer to the heart of the Seireitei, she finds more bodies, more recently killed. Every one she passes, she wants to stop and help. She does not. She knows her limits, and reviving an entire army is well beyond her abilities.

What if Ichigo needs her help? What if Rukia is dying right now? What if she gets to them and she doesn’t have the strength to help them because she wasted her time here?

Orihime keeps running as a pit opens in her stomach. She’ll never forgive herself for everyone that died here. 

For everyone that will die here.

That is dying here. 

A shinigami gasps his last as she steps over his body, and she nearly screams at the sudden noise. There’s blood under his nose and his mouth, and when she stops to see if he’s still alive, she realizes there’s nothing left from the stomach down. A bloody smear catches her eye on the wall behind him and the ground under him. 

A weak moan nearby snaps her out of her reverie, and Orihime turns. This shinigami is in better shape only due to the fact that she is alive, her fingers twitching against her zanpakuto’s hilt — it’s still clutched between her fingers. Her mouth opens and closes in a bloody rasp, and as Orihime moves closer, she realizes that the woman is repeating her zanpakuto’s name, over and over. 

“It’s okay,” she tries to tell her, ignoring the bloody mess of intestines. “Souten Kisshun." 

The shinigami doesn’t seem to realize that she’s been healed as Orihime moves away. Instead she falls into a sleep as deep as if she’d been put in a trance.

The rain is slowing down a little bit, and the fires are worse. Each time Orihime climbs over another pile of rubble, she finds herself coughing. The loneliness is eerie, especially in the blocks where all the buildings are trashed but there are no bodies and no Quincies at all. Where is everyone?  

The occasional distant explosion reassures her that the battle isn’t over, at least. Not comforting, exactly, but there’s still a chance at survival, just so long as some of them survive. _Make it to the end! You don’t have to win, just stay alive!_  

Throughout her long walk, Orihime hasn’t seen a single enemy corpse. 

The explosions get louder, and now shouting accompanies them. If she concentrates very hard, she can almost place faces with voices, and she can place powers with faces. That arching shot of ice _had_  to be Toshiro-kun! And that roar was almost certainly Zaraki-san. Her friends were alive! They were still fighting!

Except… well.

Orihime is thinking that she hasn’t seen one of the enemy warriors in a long time when she stops, finding herself at a clearing. A _trashed_ clearing. She doesn’t even recognize the crushed rubble as ground or wall. She only has enough time to register the jagged rocks when she realizes there’s a _person_  amongst them. 

“Abarai-kun!” She’s running again, heedless of potential danger, and Souten Kisshun is already spreading across his unconscious form. There’s a rock impaled in his stomach — she guesses around his liver — and she thinks some internal damage around his chest — crushed ribs? But most notable are the micro cuts embedded across every bit of flesh she can see, as stark and jagged as his tattoos.

It’s only after a full minute of healing the worst of it that his eyelids flutter open. “Inoue…"

Her smile is only marginally reassuring. “You’re okay! You’ll be okay."

“Rukia… the captain… K- the other lieutenants–"

She shakes her head. “I’ll find them soon. Right now–"

Renji sits up, coughing up residual blood and spitting it onto the ground. He’s trying to stand, grabbing at her wrists, eyes turning from side to side. She steps back, trying to keep Souten Kisshun on him. “No, we gotta find them now! Bankai… they can–"

A sudden burst of reiatsu makes her heart skip a beat, and she turns her head to see where Abarai-kun is looking, wide-eyed with fear.

It’s the Quincy from earlier. With the hood gone, she can see their lack of eyebrows, their long dark hair, the spiked mask that covers half their face.

She’s amazed that the voice is barely muffled at all. “You? I thought I killed you already. With _Senbonzakura_ _Kageyoshi_.” They pronounce the words of Kuchiki Byakuya’s bankai like a different language, as if it’s a name they’ve just learned but intend to memorize.

She remembered what Akon said in  _garganta_ —  _‘The enemy has found some way to steal_ _bankai.'_

Her fingers tighten around Renji’s. The remaining Shun Shun Rikka detach themselves from her hairpins.

The Quincy looks her over. “Inoue Orihime. Not a special war power.” There is pink in the air around their fingertips. Their eyes narrow. “We have orders to capture you alive."

The contact with Renji’s skin is like an electric connection; this time, his fingers tighten around her. “Shitten Koushun."

The blades of Senbonzakura Kageyoshi arch toward them, strike against the shield — explode backward. Then they surround the two of them, preparing to strike from behind. Renji pulls her close, still within the haze of Souten Kisshun but looking much more _alive_.

“You need to run,” he mutters, looking as though the thought of her running and leaving him behind might be the worst idea he’d had all day. “Before he–"

The attack stops. Orihime looks up, wary, and sees that the masked Quincy is turning toward the center of the Seireitei. “His Majesty needs me,” they say, and just like that, they are gone.

Silence, except for the dripping of rain against the accumulating puddles. 

“Let’s go,” Renji says, and she doesn’t try to argue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They find Renji’s captain first. 

Byakuya is somehow, miraculously, alive, and if Orihime had any medical knowledge besides what she’d tried to gain by reading Ishida’s father’s books (they were too boring for her to maintain much of an interest) she could say with certainty that his sheer strength as a Captain is all keeping him that way. His intestines, his stomach, and their collective contents cover the ground in front of where he is… stuck. 

She thinks it’s his clothing keeping his body pinned to the rock wall. She hopes it’s his clothing.

When she heals him, he does not wake up. Renji picks up his captain and lofts the man over his shoulder as if he were a sack of flour and weighed as much. 

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s keep going.” 

There is some gingerness in the way Renji keeps his captain from shifting too much, and Orihime is glad for it, because she cannot allow herself to mend all of his (or Renji’s) injuries completely. No matter how much she wants to.

She can feel Rukia’s reiatsu somewhere up ahead. Faint, but there. They can't go too fast, though; they have to be careful.

They might not be so lucky if they fight another enemy.

Renji has to stop and catch his breath twice. Orihime is glad for the opportunity to check on Byakuya, who still hasn't woken up.

Suddenly-- "There."

Renji looks grim, and she follows his expression.

And then she runs.

After Renji and Byakuya, she probably should have expected something like this. That doesn't make it easier to see Rukia with a bloody gash where her eye should be, the sclera oozing from the corners in an ugly pink mess. Orihime’s hands fly to her own face in horror, and though Souten Kisshun (already flickering slightly from the effort of continual healing) quickly stitches the eye back together, Orihime can’t get the image out of her mind.

She’s still working on Rukia’s other injuries (a head wound, a slash to the shoulder and back, a couple of crushed ribs) when an explosion and flare of light in the distance startle her. Souten Kisshun fades and returns to her side. Rukia’s eyelids flutter. “Inoue…"

“Shh, it’s okay,” Orihime says. She’s glad Rukia isn’t opening her eyes right now, lest she see the concern streaked on Orihime’s cheeks as surely as soot. The girl clutches her friend to her chest, squatting there amongst the ruins. “You’re safe now."

Orihime doesn’t _feel_  safe, though. The reiatsu in the distance swells and pulses in combat, then dies down very suddenly. The heat and light goes. The sky crackles with unspent thunder, and Orihime shivers against Rukia.

Renji, who had set his captain down to act as a lookout, picks him up again. “Inoue, we gotta move… I think we’re gonna be seeing some soldiers again real soon.” 

They’re hiding in a gutted barracks when the soldiers march through. She doesn’t know which is worse as they watch — Renji’s quiet rage, the unnatural chill of Rukia’s hand, or the desperate glow of the fires in the distance, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. It won’t be long, though.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rain returns with a vigor at dawn, and finally the fires go out. Most of them, at least; a few tendrils of smoke still waft amongst the clouds. 

They won’t let her see any of her friends. Not Renji, not Rukia. Ichigo returned from his battle mostly unhurt but looking as though someone had cast his heart into a well. She gazes at him from across the Fourth Division, then looks sadly back out into the coming dawn. 

The sun did not return for many shinigami. In the end, she made no difference in the tide of battle. 

“Orihime!"

She looks up to find Rangiku’s big, blue eyes. For once, she isn’t smiling. 

“Come with me, Orihime. We have to hurry."

They run. The Seireitei is empty of enemies but full of corpses. They pass by several shinigami carrying other shinigami on stretchers. They look Rangiku up and down wordlessly but ignore Orihime.

“Fourth Division,” Rangiku tells her. “They’re finding survivors.” Orihime bites her lip and says nothing about how _few_ there are. “I need your help with something else."

It doesn’t take them long.

They’re laying all around, still in some sort of formation. They must have fought and died like that. The shinigami Rangiku stops at — a lieutenant, since she remembers seeing his cold blue eyes and somber expression before — is very much dead. Orihime doesn’t need to feel his reiatsu to know that; the heart and lungs are burned right out of his chest. Rangiku is crouching and stroking his face, wiping the dried blood away from his lips.

Absurdly, his severed hand is still clutching a sealed zanpakuto on the ground three feet away from where he fell.

“Can you fix him?” Rangiku asks suddenly. Orihime is reminded of a child asking someone to fix a toy or mend a dress. The lieutenant looks very old and very young at once, and Orihime recalls that she’s lost other people before. 

Orihime nods. She crouches, whispers, “Souten Kisshun."

The cauterized wound isn’t like a hollow hole, she finds. Not shoved full of reiatsu and left to rot. Healing Izuru Kira is a simple matter of reforging a beating heart and a pair of working lungs, of pulling ribs out of nothingness and bending them around his chest like fingers around a child’s hand. It’s a matter of unburning flesh and unbreaking bones. 

He coughs the ashes of his own blood into Rangiku’s hand and lays still, though his eyes open slightly.

“We should take him to Fourth Division,” Orihime says, knowing that she’s probably as pale as he is. Trying to return all his blood and reiatsu might drain her of hers.

Rangiku seems to realize this as well and nods, picking up the other lieutenant and carrying him like he’s made of dust. Together they stumble away from the collection of corpses, away from the ruined and burnt buildings, and they flag down a pair of Fourth Division officers with a stretcher. At least then Rangiku’s arms are free to support Orihime, because the teenager is on the verge of collapse.

By the time they make it into the medical complex of the Fourth, Rangiku has Orihime bundled in her arms. Orihime is vaguely aware that Rangiku is speaking in a not-so-kind tone to someone who is trying to stop her, and then a door is opening. 

Rukia, though her worst injuries were healed, still manages to look both miserable and beautiful as she sits up in startled relief. Renji looks asleep in the next bed, though there’s no way to be sure. 

And then she is being lowered, the warmth of Rangiku’s chest replaced by the slightly-cooler feeling of Rukia’s hand on her forehead. Someone pulls a blanket over her, and her head strikes a pillow. There is conversation far overhead, but she is lost to it, and to the world.


	2. The Dawn After [Rukia]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't just on the grounds of protecting her friends, though that is on Rukia's mind too. This is knowing that if they don't take a stand, there might not be anyone left who will.

Her head continues to ache. There is a pain behind Rukia’s eye, right where Orihime squeezed all that nerve tissue and and blood back into her skull, like her body is confused and can’t comprehend how she’s still in one piece.

Usually, escaping the Fourth division’s intensive care was like fighting a battle tooth and nail all over again. They fuss and they hover and they nag, perhaps not used to their patients following the directions that have been given.

Not this time. In the span of a few hours only a few healers wander by Rukia’s bed, take a moment to be perplexed and amazed by the results of Orihime’s powers, and rush back out. They have more than enough other patients to attend to.

And as for Orihime herself, the girl who had the pleasure of running out and scooping the bloody mess of Rukia off the ground...

Rukia considers the thin bedsheets across her lap, and then the slumbering form tucked in next to her. Orihime must be exhausted, but her face looks troubled and sleep has given her no peace. Her skin is pale and coated in a thin sheet of sweat, her hair stands out in a shock of brassy bronze against her drained cheek. She barely looks like the same young woman who could shoot Rukia a big, sunny smile on a moment’s notice, or drift away into a daydream. No, she looks weighed down, very much anchored to their unfortunate situation.

Carefully, carefully as Rukia can, she slips off the cot and adjusts her juban for modesty and comfort. She isn’t doing Orihime or anyone else any good by staying here.

She tiptoes past Renji’s bed. He’s always been a light sleeper, but maybe he’s too unconscious or just too tired to fret over her shenanigans. She hopes he recovers as quickly as she has. Going into battle without him would feel wrong, like having part of her back exposed. Which reminds Rukia that she should find Ichigo, too. And Nii-sama. Oh god, Nii-sama…

Rukia picks Sode no Shirayuki off its stand on the wall, where it sits next to Zabimaru. The scabbard is cradled close to her body. There is a breathy sigh of relief in Rukia’s ear, a smile like a sliver of ice pressed against her neck that sends shivers down Rukia’s spine. At least someone is feeling chipper around here.

The hallway is absolute chaos. Everywhere, there is the chatter of officers, and squeaking wheels as operation tables traverse across the floor. The air is rich with the odor of medicine, and blood, and death. White hospital gowns and smocks respectively, both smattered with not-white, crowd her vision.

Rukia wishes she still had her shihakusho on her as well as her lieutenant’s badge, what little good it would do her. She doesn’t like feeling undressed and unimportant as she does now, though the feeling strikes her as familiar.

 

* * *

 

 

Rukia finds Captain Unohana right where she would expect her to be, just exiting out of the swinging doors with the sign above that reads ‘SURGERY’ in massive red print.

“Captain Unohan-” Rukia tries over the din of a worried hospital, but the respectable captain doesn’t seem to hear her at all. Not that Rukia could blame her; as the woman turns the corner, Rukia can see dark shadows stretched across her smooth and elegant face. A pair of blood-stained gloves are peeled off of her fingers methodically, years of practice in each movement.

Rukia’s voice falters as Captain Unohana’s haori swings behind her she turns a corner, a side-sweeping wing cutting through the swarm of disorder.

Before the doors have even stopped swinging behind Captain Unohana, the loping figure of Lieutenant Isane slouches into the hall. She, as well, is looking flustered. Light gray hair is darkened and pasted to her brow with sweat, she gratefully hands a smeared medical smock away to be disposed. Her dark eyes look down at Rukia’s approaching gate like a new, toiling surgery demanding her attention.

“Lieutenant Kuchiki,” She sighs, “You really should be resting. It would be irresponsible for you to leave without legitimate medical clearance.”

“My brother. Captain Kuchiki-”

Isane’s weary face smooths into a small smile. A small breath of relief. “-Is still in intensive care. Captain Unohana was just tending to him. And while I can’t make any promises because his injuries were quite severe, I believe that he will be alright.”

Rukia’s hands squeeze into fists, knuckles bone white. Memories swim back to her, visions of light falling to the ground like meteors. Byakuya Kuchiki, pride of his clan, rendered a horrifying and ugly mess of blood after his bankai had been ripped out of him. Even from across the clearing, Rukia saw him dying as if she was standing mere inches away. And then nothing but blackness.

She was distracted. She was stupid. How could she have been so weak, standing there dumbstruck like a fool? People are hurting and dead and she could do _nothing_.

Isane’s head bows to her chest, her frown returning. “You really should go back to your room. Lieutenant Matsumoto was eager to see Inoue-san again, she was making a big fuss about it. I think they’ll both want you there.”

“Yes,” Rukia nods shallowly. “You’re right. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

One question answered, still more mysteries to solve. She has to- _they_ have to regroup. She has to make sure Orihime and Renji are okay, collect Ichigo from wherever he is. That’s just obvious, isn’t it? They have to fight. They’re all going to fight.

And the Quincy. Where are they now? Why is Rukia even still alive, if not for the fact that their enemy retreated to amass an even larger attack while the Seireitei licks its wounds? Her fingers tense around Sode no Shirayuki, and she’s not quite certain if it’s anxiety or rage.

The scabbard of Rukia’s zanpakuto is freezing, even as Rukia walks through spots of sunlight filtering through the window on the route back to her room. She looks down at the sword in her arms, a deceptively warm rust color over a coldness so powerful and chilling it almost hurts, it sticks to her skin.

_What is it? Are you saying something to me?_

Sode no Shirayuki was always been unpredictable. Intimidating, even. On Rukia’s shoulder she feels the ghost of a land with elegant, long fingers curling around her. The spirit’s breath skating over Rukia’s cheek smells like pine needles and river water, and as sharp as knives.

 _I’ll do my best_ , Rukia’s fingers clench around the sword. What else can be done except for that?

Rukia’s eyes shift out the long windows, and instead of the peaceful and green courtyard she finds rows and rows of long shapes covered in sheets. The Captain Commander’s funeral will be held any day now, and Rukia can only hope she’ll see every face she loves there.

Suddenly clear and fresh as a blast of winter wind, Sode no Shirayuki’s words echoes in Rukia’s brain. Her voice sounds like white gold. _“Don’t you think…”_

This isn’t just her duty as a lieutenant or her loyalty to a friend, after all. Lives will be lost. Have been lost. Rukia bites her cheek and thinks of Orihime’s face, her hands clutching Rukia’s body like she was going to fade away.

_“Don’t you think…”_

Rukia’s shoulders tense, and her heart is a heavy hammer in her chest. She can’t afford to be the kind of coward to hesitate about battle. A half-victory won’t do like it did against in her battles in Hueco Mundo.

_“Don’t you think… It’s time we took matters into our own hands?”_

Rukia stops very suddenly, with Sode no Shirayuki’s knowing grin fading from her mind’s eye. Is she supposed to know what that means?

Does she already?

Rukia stares back down at the sword. “You-”

“Rukia!”

Rangiku Matsumoto’s voice cuts through Rukia’s thoughts. Her smile looks more forced than usual, painted over a grim demeanor. From the hand firmly on the other lieutenant’s hip, Rukia can guess that she’s mentally being scolded for leaving her bed and Orihime, but there’s something else too.

Rukia asks without even thinking about it, “Matsumoto-san, are you alright?”

“What?” The other woman gives her a look, somewhere between surprised and anxious. Rukia misses seeing a pink-cheeked smile and a soothing reassurance that everything was under control. “Yes, of course. Forget about that, you had Orihime worried about you!”

“I was only stretching my legs.” Rukia half-fibs. Satisfying her own curiosity was worth the trip, even if it didn’t get her much information. She tries not to look guilty as Rangiku walks her back to the room, all the while shooting suspicious glances at Sode no Shirayuki. The spirit is as silent as the grave.

Rangiku is uncharacteristically quiet. Rukia studies her face from the side, and notes the way her haircut adds some tousled, devil-may-care edge to her face. The choppy cut of her chin-length hair brings out the sharpness of her jaw. Her bangs bounce against brows wrinkled in worry. She’d been looking so much happier lately, before today. Now she looks severe.

Rukia knows that Renji is awake before she even reaches the door. “That’s fuckin’ nonsense and you know it!”

Rangiku and Rukia share a gratuitous rolling of eyes and Rukia mouths _here we go_ before entering.

Orihime is awake as well, though her hair defies gravity from just having woken up and she twists her fingers in her palm. Rukia sees why- Ichigo is staring down Renji, and he’s dressed for battle in his shihakusho with his zanpakuto strapped to his back.

She can’t be bothered to feign surprise that the two of them are butting heads again. Rukia is more badgered by the fact that Ichigo doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. His clothes are still disheveled from yesterday’s rain.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ichigo grouses. His hands hover in the air like he’s waiting for answers, or for something to hand him directions. “They said they want an audience. Maybe it’ll help us out, but it sure as hell can’t hurt at this point.”

Renji looks spectacularly unconvinced. Like Rukia, he’s down to his juban, and even though Renji is a looming figure in his own right there’s some juxtaposition in seeing him dressed down when Ichigo is armed and raring to go. “Nobody knows anything about the Soul King’s Palace. People aren’t even sure where it is! Who knows how long you’ll be gone?”

His eyes find Rukia in the doorway, and his voice is huffy but not exactly angry yet. Rukia suspects a touch of envy. “Did you know about this?”

“Why would I know anything about that?” Rukia frowns, not entirely pleased to come back to a hubub.

Renji shrugs with arms folded over his chest, equally as surly. “You’ve been wandering around, apparently.”

It really wasn’t for that long. Rukia hopes she didn’t upset Orihime, and eyes the girl looking down at her hands in her lap, though Rukia thinks this may have to do with Ichigo’s more immediate news of departure.

Rukia turns the conversation back on Ichigo, “You’re going to the Soul Palace?”

Ichigo pulls at the straps of his shoulderguards over his chest. He doesn’t look terribly excited about receiving a summons from royalty, but having endured nobility enough herself Rukia can understand. Maybe he agrees with Renji and doesn’t want to leave the battlefield while it’s still hot. Or maybe he doesn’t like the idea of going alone.

“Yeah, they asked for me to come up. I don’t know what for. Maybe to negotiate sending reinforcements?”

“Why you, though? Most of the captains are still accounted for.” Rukia asks, and her thoughts flicker back to Nii-sama as soon as the word ‘most’ leaves her mouth.

“I dunno. Because I’m a substitute? It doesn’t matter, I still have to go.” Ichigo exhales and frowns in a way that makes Rukia suspect people have asking him a lot of questions he can’t answer lately. She’d be sympathetic if this isn’t something he always, always did. “If it’s something that’ll help me fight those Quincy guys, I can’t afford not to. I just came to say goodbye before I left.”

Rukia wants to point out it’s stupid for him to go on his own, or even go at all, but Ichigo has a point. If he’s being called upon by the Soul King himself, there’s no reason not to answer. Even if it meant he’d be off of their radar for an indefinite amount of time. Of course he’ll come back. When has Ichigo ever been known to not be around then they need him?

Additionally- and Rukia really does hate to admit this- he might be more good up there than he is down here now. Even with everyone fighting at full force, yesterday’s invasion was a disaster. A miracle from the fabled Soul Palace would really come in handy.

Ichigo’s shadow passes over Orihime, making her look up with alert and worried eyes. She’s been so quiet this whole time, squeezing her fist in her palm. Rukia wants to tell her everything is going to be fine. Instead Ichigo gives her a rare smile, the kind he only reserves for Orihime and his sisters. “Stay safe here, Inoue. Soul Society’s probably going to need you.”

That was saying it lightly. No pressure or anything.

“When I get back, we’ll get Chad from Hueco Mundo. And probably get Uryuu from back home because he’s gonna flip out over this. And we’re all gonna collectively punch these guys right out of Soul Society.”

Orihime’s lips crack into a thin smile, nervous eyebrows knit over a brave face. “Right, right. We’ll work all this out.”

Ichigo exchanges uncertain looks with a slightly subdued Renji before he passes Rukia. His hand seizes her shoulder and squeezes firmly. It could be a reassuring gesture, but Rukia knows what he’s saying. _Keep her safe._ Orihime’s toes reach for the floor.

Rangiku is the last to see him go, standing by the door. Her eyes keep flickering to Renji with urgency. “I need to talk to you!” She half whispers, half-hisses as soon as the substitute leaves.

Renji slides Zabimaru from the wall and balances the sword on his hip with familiarity. An inked brow is raised. “What? Right now?” But that seems to be the incorrect answer, and at much needling and vivacious gesturing he is goaded out into the hall.

What an odd woman. Rukia blinks at the empty doorway after them when Orihime pipes up with a voice so quiet it surprises Rukia.

“She’s probably nervous about Lieutenant Kira. He was- he was badly hurt in the battle.” Orihime explains, and something sounds gray with the way her eyes slide to the wall. Rukia doesn’t believe she’s lying, but it doesn’t sound like the full truth, either. “I healed him, but he’s still in pretty bad shape.”

“Oh.” Rukia nods duly. Kira was a good friend of Rangiku and Renji. The bond between Kira and Renji appeared to have grown even stronger since the end of the Winter War, despite their personalities seeming as different as night and day. Rukia supposed it took something chaotic and jarring to bring people closer together.

Orihime holds her hands close to her body. Her clothes are messy and she looks like she should use a shower with the way her hair has gone wild and untamed. Rukia is probably looking much worse for the harsh beating she received, but Orihime hardly seems to notice. “What are you going to do now?”

Fair question. Part of Rukia would love to answer with ‘go back to bed’  but she shakes it out of her thoughts. “Go to work. Get cleaned up and changed.”

Her division will need her, too. Rukia is co-responsible for an entire squad now, and there will be many disheartened people who need motivating. Even if her mind wanders back to Sode no Shirayuki’s cryptical message. If Rukia could find a few minutes alone to commune with her zanpakuto, what else would she hear?

She doesn’t allow herself ambition yet. War is not a good time for hope.

“What about you?” Rukia asks the other girl. “What are you going to do now?”

Orihime bites her lip, but she doesn’t look at tense as before. A touch of color returns to her rosy face. “Help, I guess. It’s what I came here to do. I want to keep doing it.”

_Keep her safe…_

_Don’t you think it’s time we take matters into our own hands…_

“That sounds like a plan.” Rukia says, and some semblance of confidence returns to her. If Orihime can stay determined, Rukia can at least return the favor. “I’ll lend you some clothes at the estate, and we can both get down to business.  
  
Not a moment to waste. Time is not on their side.


	3. The Safest Place [Orihime]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orihime isn't alone anymore, but she isn't going to let anyone fight in her stead, either. Her strength runs deeper than rivers and higher than mountains.

How can one person bear the weight of the world? How can he stand so tall, even as he looks like he is crumbling? As Orihime watches Ichigo’s back recede into the hallway and out of sight, she wonders these things. And if she’ll ever see him again.

 

It’s a silly thought, she realizes, shoving limp hair out of her eyes and relaxing the tension on her hands. It’s Ichigo. Of course she’ll see him again. He’s a triangulating factor in the cosmos — a constant. She worries more for her other friends — the ones she, weak as she is, was needed to save.

Rukia looks quite a bit better than she did the last time Orihime saw her. Not that that’s saying terribly much, all things considered. Still, it seems like resting has returned the color to her cheeks, and when she’s carrying Sode no Shirayuki like that, she almost looks ready to face the world.

Orihime wishes the same could be said for herself. She’s still wearing the same clothes she was wearing when she came to Soul Society (fortunately someone had at least bothered to remove her shoes before putting her to bed). Her clothes and skin feel sticky with dried sweat, ashes, blood, dirt, and rainwater, not to mention sand from Hueco Mundo.

Worse, she feels… drained. Like the twelve or so hours of restless sleep had sapped her energy rather than restored it. Is this because she brought someone back from the dead? She’s done that before, and a lot more of it — yet somehow, she feels more exhausted even than she felt on that day in Hueco Mundo. 

She hesitates when Rukia asks her what she wants to do. Desire is not, has never been an option in the battles she must fight. Even so, there is something like strength in the way she clenches get fists and sits up and tells Rukia that she's going to _help_. Because there's nothing else _to_ do.

"That sounds like a plan," says Rukia, and Orihime hopes that her friend's faith is not a colossal mistake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They discharge themselves from the Fourth Division with little trouble at all. Despite the fact that the Division is floundering with activity, the shinigami behind the desk seems relieved to see them go and asks if Renji is ready to be discharged as well. Not wanting to overstep, Orihime tells him that he is not, but suggests that perhaps his bed can be moved into the room with Izuru Kira. After all, that way Rangiku won’t have to drag him out of bed for more visits.

She had felt all of their spirit pressures nearby on their way out. She isn’t good enough yet to sense emotion based on reiatsu, but she can imagine the tension in that room — despite her healing, the blond lieutenant hadn’t exactly been a picture of health when they’d handed him off to the medics. She hopes Izuru is okay. She also hopes Rangiku is okay. She would give quite a lot to ensure that she never has to see Rangiku so distraught ever again.

As they make their way to the door, Orihime garners some odd looks that she's come to associate with her status as ryoka. Invader. When she first came to Seireitei in order to rescue Rukia, she never imagined that she would eventually think of this place like a second home. Or that any of _this_  would happen. 

She thinks about asking what Rukia thought, then decides against it. Rukia probably doesn't want to be reminded of those days.

It is bright and hot when they walk outside. Obscenely so. It occurs to Orihime that it must be mid-morning now, one day after the invasion. Over twenty-four hours since the sun had risen over the wrecked city. She had slept for most of that time.

In a different world, it is a Tuesday. In a different world, her friends are almost ready to go to lunch. Ishida-kun and Tatsuki-chan and Keigo and Mizuiro and all the others. It’s bright and hot in Karakura Town, no doubt, and everyone is getting ready for whatever the future will hold. 

Orihime feels her chest swell in pain as she slips on her soggy tennis shoes, which two days ago had been white and now are closer in color to the ground on which she stands. How fair is it? That she gets to stand here and bask in the sunlight, while so many others are dead and dying? That she gets a _future_?

Orihime takes a risk and glances at Rukia while they walk. Her friend is quiet, very quiet, and her eyes gaze into the middle distance as though focused on something very far away. Orihime says nothing. She doesn't want to break her friend's concentration.

They pass very few shinigami on their way to the Kuchiki home. It seems like the entire Seireitei is asleep. She imagined that anyone with less serious injuries probably didn't bother with the Fourth Division, since they'd already been full past capacity. The rubble is easier to navigate than she expected, though it is jarring to turn the corner and see the gutted remains of an office or barrack room, unoccupied now.

At the very least, they don't encounter any _dead_  shinigami. She doesn't know if she could handle it.

Finally, as they skirt the blasted shell of a wall that appears to have shards of metal sticking out of it, Rukia's silence becomes too much for Orihime, and she speaks up. "What are you thinking about?"

Rukia looks up, startled, and Orihime notices that her fingers, resting on the hilt of her zanpakuto, are white and bloodless. "Oh, just... Stuff."

She stares at Rukia for a moment more before deciding to let it be. She'll find out if it's something she needs to know. 

The Kuchiki mansion is untouched by the violence that fills the rest of the Seireitei. It, too, is quiet and still. Orihime remembers that there are civilians who live in the city, not just shinigami. She hopes they had the good sense to stay out of sight during the battle, or better yet, to flee. 

"Do you think..." Orihime starts, bites her lip, and continues. "Do you think your brother will do something about the servants? To keep them safe?"

Rukia looks uncertain as they cross the lawn. Still no sign of anyone at all. Maybe they already fled and there's no need to worry about it at all. "I'm... not sure," her friend finally says. The fact that her brother is alive and will make a full recovery has gotten back to her, at least. "They should be told to leave, though. In case there's a second invasion."

So benign, those words. And yet so inevitable. Orihime shivers, despite the heat. If the shinigami barely survived the first attack, what will be the outcome of the second?

She knows a couple of things, though. If she's going to stay in the Seireitei, then she needs to be an asset rather than a burden when the time comes. And if she's going to be an asset, she needs to be able to do more than just _patch up_  a few injuries.

_I have Shitten Koushun_ , she thinks. Even as they step into the shade of the house, though, she knows that's not going to be enough. Not this time around.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Orihime is almost finished bathing, Rukia opens the door slightly — just enough to slide fresh clothes and a towel across the floor. "You can wear this for right now," she says, then hurries away, and Orihime almost wishes that she had stayed. The murky water that splashes against her skin leaves her with too many equally-murky thoughts. 

She shrugs the yukata on easily enough, despite the fact that it is just _slightly_  too small for her, clearly meant for someone several inches shorter and somewhat slimmer than her. She smiles slightly as she ties the sash around her waist. Everything in this place, even the very _smell_ , reminds her of Rukia in some way. It’s a safe feeling, to be surrounded by the aromas of sage and rosemary, of lilac and incense. Even the aspects that she associates with Byakuya have that familiar feeling, thanks to the month she’d spent in Soul Society.

A crash down the hallway spurs Orihime out of her thoughts and off in search of the noise.

The culprit turns out to be Rukia, her eyes as wide as spoons as she stares at the upended bowl of porridge on the tatami mats. “Oh no!” says Orihime, holding back the little giggle that swells in her throat like a soap bubble, then picks up the bowl, which is not broken at all. Rukia finds a dirty towel, and together they wipe up the mess.

“I’m _so sorry_ , Inoue!” Rukia still looks like an owl and sounds completely mortified, at which Orihime can’t help but laugh. “I wanted to make us something to eat, but I messed it up completely!”

“It’s okay!” Orihime replies, holding the fallen bowl out. “Let’s make it together! It’ll be more fun that way, anyway."

It ought to be a sin to have so much fun under the circumstances, but as Orihime chops strawberries to put in the dish, she feels quite a bit more calm than she had upon leaving the Fourth Division. By the time the second batch of porridge ends up on the kotatsu in Rukia’s bedroom, Orihime thinks the loneliness, the unforgiving feeling of fear that comes with being alone and in danger, might be held back for the time being.

“You got new posters," Orihime comments, marveling at the superhero Chappy displayed prominently on the screens. The room just as big as she remembers, though not quite as barren. Now, it seems like someone has actually lived here — the small personal effects that detail the walls and floor are only part of it. It’s like it contains the spirit of their friendship, as it had seemed to every time they fell asleep on this floor, only a few feet away from each other.

The clear, early afternoon light filters into the room across Rukia’s face as she replies, “The Women Shinigami Association had a fundraiser.” Despite the lighter atmosphere surrounding them, Rukia still looks ponderous. She’s still wearing the clothes she left the Fourth Division in, and after a long silence in which there is no sound but the squishing of spoons in bowls, Rukia gets up to go bathe as well. “I’ll be back soon."

Rukia hasn’t been gone for ten minutes before the unbearable loneliness closes in around Orihime again, and she lays down under the blanket of the kotatsu, her body shaking slightly. As she absently traces the purple flowers embroidered on her borrowed yukata, she bites back tears. 

_All of this… all of this joy… it’s going to end._

Unless they can find some way to survive the battles to come.

And come they will, whether Orihime wants them to or not. There’s nothing she can do to stop them, and very little she can do to make their occurrence more bearable. Even more people are going to die. Her friends could die. She could die.

There’s no way around it. She’s going to have to fight this time, more than she’s ever fought before in her life.

By the time Rukia returns from her bath, the only sign of Orihime’s discomfort is the way her eyebrows twitch as she dreams of pitch-black and hungry, grasping hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Orihime wakes up, the sky is glowing orange and there’s a pillow propped under her head. Her yukata is damp with sweat. The room is quiet except for the distant and tranquil sound of cicadas. Her porridge is cold, sticking to the bottom of the bowl. Rukia is gone.

She sits up, shivering as the damp fabric brushes her skin, drawing up gooseflesh. What time is it? How long has she slept? She guesses it must be nearly dusk, based on the rapidly-changing colors in the sky. So she's slept for five or six hours. Not too long, but a long time nonetheless — time is at a premium right now, after all.

Ignoring the pang in her stomach to inform her of newfound hunger, Orihime struggles to her feet and crosses the bedroom, sliding open the door to look outside. In addition to the warmth of late afternoon sunlight on her skin, Orihime feels a light breeze across her cheeks. Such a fragile heat, and her in only nightclothes. 

Somehow, there are even fewer signs of life in the yard as there were before her unanticipated nap. Before, she could feel the quiet presences of the household servants nearby, if she concentrated hard enough — she'd merely assumed that they were still frightened and wanted to stay out of the way. Now, though, the Kuchiki house feels as deserted as the precipice of a mountain.

In fact, the only other soul for a mile around is Rukia. But where is she?

When she tracks down the reiatsu of her friend, she realizes why Rukia hadn't come to find her after she'd woken. Sitting crosslegged in one of the gardens with her back to a small stream, Rukia's eyes are closed and Sode no Shirayuki is laid across her lap. Orihime smiles slightly; of course Rukia would want to convene with her zanpakuto. She doesn't _exactly_ understand what that entails, but Ichigo does it all the time when he needs to work something out, right? So it's not hard to imagine Rukia doing the same thing. 

As she draws closer, though, Orihime realizes something else — when she tries to cross within a three-meter radius of Rukia's meditating form, the temperature drops, forcing the fine auburn hairs on her arms to stand on end. Further, investigation leads Orihime to notice that a semicircle of glass-like ice, thin as paper and just as fragile, spreads across the stream behind Rukia

Orihime retreats to the footpath, watching Rukia with uncertainty. How strange — the emotion in her belly feels a lot like the jealousy she'd associated with Rukia before the events in Hueco Mundo. But she'd divorced herself from those long ago, and she'd even admitted her conflicting feelings to Rukia herself! 

So maybe not jealousy. But if not, then... what?

Turning abruptly, Orihime shakes her head and pushes her feelings aside. Now isn't the time to work out her emotions. Now is the time to prepare for the worst.

The segment of the garden she picks is just as tranquil as the flowing-water section, though quite a bit more floral. The azalea bushes, out of bloom but bright green with the summer's temperal weather, line the paths. Clearly, the Kuchiki family pays someone to care for their many flowers and plants.

"Shun'o," she says the moment she crosses her legs. "Tsubaki."

The two fairies she's summoned break off from her hairpins and appear before her. "Yes, Orihime-sama?" says the even-tempered representative of Shun Shun Rikka, while Tsubaki merely looks gruff and says nothing. 

“Do you remember,” she begins, hands twisting in her lap, “how we created Shitten Koushun?"

“We didn’t _create_  it, Orihime-sama.” Shun’o looks thoughtfully at her, hovering about a foot from her face. “Its power was in you all along, just as with our other abilities. You just had to find it within yourself to use it."

“But the powers. It was Tsubaki’s Kouten Zanshun and Santen Kesshun.” Orihime gazes at the small faces fiercely. “Are there… are there other ways to combine you guys’ abilities?"

“Your powers,” says Shun’o, looking both curious and pleased, “are limited only by your imagination."

There was another conversation, once, where someone told her that her abilities have nothing to do with what already exists but everything to do with what she desires to exist. And she had nodded and agreed, because Hachigen of course was talking about the strength of her barrier and her healing abilities and her singular offense. Never had it occurred to her that she’d have even _one_ more ability than the ones she started with.

But then, she was so young, and her world was so small — she was just protecting Kurosaki-kun and her other friends. Now, she’s protecting the whole world. All of Soul Society; all of the humans. Even Hueco Mundo is counting on her. 

One more power isn’t enough anymore. Two more aren’t enough. She needs the capacity to protect _everyone_.

“Okay,” she says, and the hairpins come out of her hair altogether. “I’m gonna need everyone in order to do this."

She summons the rest of the fairies and begins.


	4. The Price of Power [Rukia]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most shinigami take ten years to master their bankai. Ichigo Kurosaki had three days. Rukia has however long until the world ends, which may be anywhere from a few days to a few hours. No big deal.

Fun fact, if you didn’t know, but they don’t teach shinigami about how to access the their own Inner Worlds in the Shin’o Academy. Which actually works for Rukia just fine, since she was only in school for a year before the Kuchikis took her out.

The first time Rukia entered her Inner World was after she passed out from a nasty accident in training. Kaien drubbed her skull, not even realized she was unconscious until her body started to go cold and he had to develop a procedure for combating frostbite in the middle of July.  

Kaien said that was normal, that sometimes these things just happened on accident and were a part of the process. They didn’t discuss it any more than what was necessary for Rukia to learn Sode no Shirayuki’s name and begin to access her shikai. They could have talked about it if they wanted, but Rukia was embarrassed.

She was embarrassed because her Inner World wasn’t a place, it was a feeling. Or- it was a place made out of feelings. A feeling-place.It felt like a room that only Rukia had ever been in. It felt like the closest thing to a home Rukia had ever known, more so than a mostly empty mansion and her brother’s eyes going over her head.

When Rukia’s feet touch down on the thick coat of ice over a perfectly frozen lake, she knows to expect the extreme coldness. She knows, but is somehow still surprised, by the pristine whiteness of the frozen water underneath her, or the flat open space around the edge of the lake blanketed by snow. The only color in the whole world is the dim, glossy light from a perfect full moon directly overhead that inexplicably was bright enough to reflect rainbow colors against the crystals of ice and snow. It glares bright blue and pink and gold into Rukia’s face, hurting her eyes, and she instinctively moves her hand up to shield herself.

She hates entering this place in a bad mood. Rukia wants to keep this world pure as she could, away from her own negative feelings. This whole dimension seemed so perfect and picturesque, she sometimes worries doing the wrong thing will mar the scenery and make it shatter, and for some reason the visualizations of Rukia’s anxieties are a lot more scary than the act of repressing them.

It was probably good she spent the evening with Orihime, even if the situation wasn’t exactly ideal. Rukia couldn’t stop thinking about Byakuya, or Ichigo, or any other countless number of people who weren’t at home, having oatmeal and hot baths.

“Sode no Shirayuki?” Rukia tries, sounding unsure, although she knows that the spirit can’t possibly _not_ be here since Rukia has had her eye on her sword all day. Still, she can’t entirely put it past Shirayuki to send her on a wild goose chase.

As Rukia feared, she gets silence. It’s just snow and ice and light mingling with nighttime. Is it actually nighttime here? Is that the moon or is it the sun? Does time move here at all? Why would a construct of Rukia’s own soul have its own micro-solar system with a sun or a moon? That’s probably overthinking it. “Sode no Shirayuki!”

After seconds or minutes or hours or years, Rukia’s voice echoes back. In Rukia’s own low voice she hears herself say _“Shirayuki!”_ carried back to her on the wind. Wind that curls and contours around the snow-laden hills, carrying big flat puffy flakes on its current and over the ice.

The snow twists, first into an indistinct spiral and then into a tall twirl. It brushes through Rukia’s hair. It catches the edges of her clothes. It cuts through her skin straight to the bone.

Sode no Shirayuki’s hair falls straight like sheets of ice. Her robes are the swirling snow that avalanche down over her shoulders. Rukia has to crane her neck to see the zanpakuto’s face towering above her, the skin made of frost and fade that seems to be as constantly shifting changing as the weather itself. At one moment Rukia recognizes her own jaw and the shape of her nose in that face. She blinks, and suddenly the structure of those lips and brow remind her much more of Miyako, Rukia’s former mentor and Kaien’s wife. The next instant. Shirayuki’s soft cheeks and face shape even look faintly like Orihime’s. It’s every face Rukia has seen, shifting and changing indistinctly. The color of her eyes are so dark, the truecolor of them indecipherable, but they’re nearly black.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come to me.” Shirayuki says, delicately touching her upturned lips with the tips of her fingers in faint surprise. Her voice is raspy, it scrapes. “You seemed busy.”

“It’s been a long few days.” Rukia puts her hands on her hips and resists the urge to look away.

“I know, my dear. I was there, remember?” Shirayuki sighs a cloud of frost and folds her arms over her chest. Worry momentarily flickers over her face, but it shapeshifts as quickly as the rest of her features. “You’re very lucky that your friend arrived when she did. You were almost gone completely.”

Rukia was hoping this conversation would involve things she didn’t already know, but fine. Her lip curls in a frown. “Yes, that happens from time to time. You spoke to me in the hospital? You mentioned power. Maybe you want to elaborate on that.”

Sode no Shirayuki hums and distractedly echoes. “Power? Oh yes, you mean our bankai.”

Rukia’s throat becomes very dry. Her body might shake if she was capable of feeling anything at all out here in this tundra. “So that’s true, then. That’s great! We can fight the quincies together with our bankai!”

“Hmm.” Shirayuki hums again. Her eyes fall off of Rukia as if she’s looking at something far away, though Rukia knows for a fact there’s exactly nothing for miles and miles around. “Fight? Oh yes, we’ll definitely fight…”

That’s not confidence-inducing. Rukia waits for her to go on, and when the spirit fails to do so, Rukia sort of- just- snaps her fingers loudly. Impatience gnaws at her common courtesy.

But Shirayuki’s voice picks back up as if the conversation was a seamless flow. She strides across the ice without slipping, without even touching it. “Rukia, the major events you’ve engaged in within the past few years have been… extreme.” She touches her fingertips together, dragging the long sleeves of her… is that a furisode she wears? The fabric of it seems to change even as Rukia’s eyes hover on it.

“Not just extreme. They’ve been personal. They’ve pulled you in. The death of Shiba-dono forced to you take action for his honor. Your role in Aizen’s manipulation game made you a key component in the plot against Soul Society, then his kidnapping of Inoue-san again compelled you to her rescue. More recently, your concern for Kurosaki-san brought you back to the World of the Living to help your human friends.”

Shirayuki turns again, so quick it startles Rukia just a little. The light behind her eyes is hot like freezer burn. It hurts to look at her. “Rukia. What I’m saying is every time you have entered a challenging battle of life or death, it was a battle of the heart. Something was done to you or someone you cared about, and this dragged you into the fray. It brought forth your passion and your kindness, and this allowed you to win. I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.”

The spirit rushes forward to squeeze Rukia’s shoulders, and her fragile-looking hands have a vice-like grip. Ice swims over the sleeves of Rukia’s kimono and she is forced, with curiosity and alarm clawing at her insides to look at Shirayuki’s eyes. The one part of her that doesn’t change.

“This war, and the battles you will fight onward, won’t be like that. These people- these quincies. They don’t care who you are or what you want. To them, you are a mere distraction, but I know what you are. You are a warrior, and you are a compassionate person. And you have a duty to everyone, because if you fail the consequences will affect _everyone._ Do you understand?”

Rukia feels foolish by how much it is to absorb. This sounds like a lecture she gave to Ichigo, in the first few months of his training. A shinigami doesn’t just save people out of convenience, they do so out of love for all souls. That’s the pledge Rukia made. That’s what brought her to where she is in the first place.

And yet, when she does it all over again, after getting attached to her friends and her life like she has now, could Rukia do that. Could she risk… no, could she sacrifice herself and the life she had come to love just because it was the right thing to do?

Does she trust herself to know the right thing to do?

Perhaps it’s a relief that at this point, there isn’t much of a choice.

Rukia wraps her hands around Sode no Shirayuki’s wrists. She squeezes, and she doesn’t feel anything at all. She’s numb. “I do. I’m ready. Tell me what challenge I have to complete and I’ll prove it!”

Shirayuki releases Rukia’s shoulders. Rukia’s body feels lighter and emptier, like she misses the weight of the spirit’s heavy hands. Between their bodies the ice opens up and Rukia can see at her feet a glimpse of the moving water underneath the ice before Sode no Shirayuki’s sword, her corporeal body, ascends through the gap.

“My dear,” Shirayuki grips the hilt in her hands, a perfect fit, and draws it from the ice. “The last challenge is always death.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rukia’s eyes fly open, and with it is the sound of shattering. She looks down in bewilderment, at the sword in her lap and the grass around her knees, and notices the splinters of ice quickly melting in the stream behind her 

Her powers were always a little unwieldy, they resisted simplicity. That was fine, though. Restraint was not what she needed as of late.

Rukia’s knees shake a little underneath her as she stands up, brushing grass and bits of ice off of her knees. Okay. Okay. So bankai. Bankai is good. Bankai is another thing that nobody taught her about, not even Kaien. Bankai is for captains and special exceptions, not for officers who just got promoted to lieutenant. She’s not the exception.

But she knows a few.

Fingers comb through her hair, pushing bangs away from her forehead. It’s long past dark, and shockingly that encounter with Shirayuki hadn’t made Rukia any more relaxed than she was before. She needs to focus on what she can do right now.

Through the trimmed and manicured gardens, Rukia tiptoes barefoot back to her room. Normally she would be worried about tracking mud in and getting scolded, but the situation has obviously changed. There is no way that the residents of Seireitei didn’t see the horrific display of the invasion, so Rukia can predict that all of her Kuchiki relatives have hoofed it out of town to avoid the war. They probably used their nobility and influence to get quick transportation.

Rukia lifts the long end of her yukata over her shins and nearly smirks, thinking of what her prim and proper elders will do trying to rough it with the Rukongai crowd. If only they knew the districts out there like she does. Her smile fades into a solemn cringe, however, when she thinks about poor people out there beyond the Seireitei walls. Rukongai is already crowded to bursting point. They have no defenses, no resources. What will happen if the war forces all residents of Seireitei to evacuate to the overpopulated Rukongai long-term?

A familiar form greets Rukia at the door to her room, one that isn’t Orihime. One of the Kuchiki servants, the one who tended to Rukia when she was younger, greets her with a concerned smile. “My lady, are you alright? You look so pale, you need to rest before your captain summons you.”

Ignoring the fact that Rukia will probably feel like crap for a long time one way or the other, Rukia shakes her head. “Satsumi-san, you’re still here? I told everyone to leave, it’s not safe.”

“I wanted to come back to check on you, and see if your brother had returned.” Satsumi’s freckled face falls, and the fake optimism slides off of her. She looks old, dressed in plain and matronly robes and with her hair tied back, but the woman can’t be much older than Rukia is. “He will- be returning, Kuchiki-sama?”

Rukia has to stop herself from sighing. It’s not Satsumi’s fault, they really need a newsletter or something. There’s too much happening at once and not enough ways to get information to the people who need it. “Captain Kuchiki will make a recovery, but it won’t be until much later. Please, Satsumi-san, let all the remaining staff know you are all on paid leave until the war has ended.”

Assuming the war ends. Which it will, of course. Wasn’t that what Sode no Shirayuki had been reassuring Rukia about with her future? Rukia swallows, and some measure of authority is pushed back into her voice. “You should take your family and go far away for a while. Yesterday’s attack won’t be the worst we see.” Not by a long shot.

Satsumi looks down, squeezing her knuckles with her palm. Loyalty is a prized quality the Kuchiki’s book for in their employees. Knowing how finicky her relatives are, Rukia has a hard time imagining anyone would be fond of working for them.

Then again, this woman has practically raised Rukia since she was a teenager. She isn’t even a shinigami, and she could die in this war. A pang of hurt finds Rukia, and that hurt is becoming exceedingly familiar.

“You’re looking for the ryoka, right? Inoue-san?” Satsumi pipes back up. She points out, past where Rukia just came from. “The last I’d seen her, she had left your room to go into the gardens. I’m not sure where, though.”

“Thank you, Satsumi.” Rukia turns. She knows Orihime’s reiatsu well enough to find it out there. It reminds her of warm sunshine and orange juice.

 

* * *

 

As it happens, Rukia finds Orihime nearly as quickly as Orihime finds her. She takes a shortcut around the pond through a sternly clipped section of cattails only to nearly stumble ass-first into the water when Orihime trips into her.

“Kuchiki-san! Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Orihime squeaks, her voice gone high and nervous. Rukia bends her knees in a defensive stance and grips the other girl’s biceps in an instinctive move to keep them both from losing balance. “I woke up and and you weren’t there so I thought I would explore for you, but of course you seemed really busy and I wouldn’t interrupt you, so I went to-  uhm, to stretch my legs for a bit and maybe do some thinking. The air out here is so fresh, you know, in Soul Society-”

“Inoue.” Rukia blinks once, perplexed. This kind of perplexed is not strange, but one she often feels around Orihime. It makes things more interesting. Her hands squeeze Orihime again, gently, until Orihime looks at her. She looks far better than she did earlier, after a bath and a change of clothes. Rukia wishes she could give her more time.

“I’m sorry, Kuchiki-san. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Orihime smiles, and all of the air leaves her at once like weight sliding off of her shoulders. Heavy weights. “Did you do what you left to do?”

“Huh?” Ah, right. Rukia wandered off while Orihime was a sleep. That makes twice in one day that she’s done that. Rukia realises she’s still holding Orihime and retracts her hands to her own side. “Yeah, I think I did. I’m reaching a… breakthrough, I think? I want to talk to Renji about it.”

“You and Abarai-kun are going to work together, then?” Orihime asks. Her hairpins are glowing slightly, but Rukia assumes it’s the sunset’s reflection casting a halo around her head. It makes her look ethereal.

“Mm- maybe. I think he has some advice I need. I could ask Ichigo, too, but-” But Ichigo was long gone, hopefully due to appear again some time before the end of the world. Rukia brushes that thought away. “Anyways, I need to do that as soon as I can.

Orihime’s lips twist, forming a gentle frown. The yukata she’s wearing is the roomiest one Rukia has, but it still fits awkwardly on her. The lilypad pattern is cute, though. “Maybe you could wait, though? I mean- Kuchiki-san, I think that’s a good idea, but you and Abarai-kun were both hurt in the fight. If you push yourselves it could be…”

Rukia’s eye throbs, only for a second. Bad. Yeah. “We just don’t have a lot of time.”

“I get it.” Orihime says, and the frustrating part is that Rukia can tell she really does. Rukia looks upwards, momentarily searching the darkening sky for patience.

“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.” Rukia finally concedes, and sees through the way Orihime’s shoulders lift very slightly. “I’ll be more prepared after a good night’s rest, anyways.

“Right!” Orihime beams and lifts her hand in a salute.

 

* * *

 

When they get back, Orihime starts searching Rukia’s closet.

“What are you doing?” Rukia asks as she falls onto her futon. The cushion is surprisingly plush for a traditional-style futon. Perk of living the high-life and all, but after enough years of sleeping on the ground, Rukia finds that a stiff nap on the floor doesn’t agree with her.

“Uh, sorry.” Orihime looks over her shoulder and flushes. “I wondered if you had a sleeping bag or guest futon or something, but I’ll just take a pillow and a blanket.”

The notion strikes Rukia as silly. This big room and Orihime is going to sleep on the floor? “Inoue, no. Just-” She scoots over and peels back the blanket a little, showing how much ample room there is. “You know?”

“A-are you sure?” Orihime asks, looking from one end of the room to the other like waiting for the trap to spring. “You don’t have to.”

“We shared a futon when you stayed over that one summer.” Rukia points out. And yes, it was a little weird because neither of them were used to sharing a bed, but it was nice, too. Normal people have sleep-overs, right? They’re fun.

And there’s something very calming about a weight next to Rukia when she sleeps. About the scent of Orihime’s hair being so close. Orihime is like a furnace underneath the blanket, radiating warmth.

She still radiates when she crawls under the covers, curling up next to Rukia. She certainly seems happier than she would be on the floor, sinking her head into the pillow. “Thanks, Kuchiki-san.”

Rukia must be more tired than she thought. Her head feels fuzzy, but she smiles at Orihime’s back. “Goodnight, Inoue.”

Another silent hope that this won’t be the last time she has the opportunity to say those words.

 


	5. The Protector [Orihime]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are you going to protect, and how?

Orihime wakes up to sunlight spattered across her face like freckles, all over her nose and ears and mouth. It angles from the high windows, illuminating the golden tones in the wood paneling on the walls. Early summer laziness fills her in these early moments, before she remembers where she is, and why. 

Between the sunlight and her own body heat beneath the covers, the heat is almost overpowering, except... Sleeping next to Rukia has always brought her body temperature down, no matter the season, but her friend seems exceptionally chilled just now, as if she'd slept in a freezer or something. Her hand, her body, her legs (which have somehow ended up wrapped around Orihime's) are all icy to the touch. If it weren't for rise and fall of the covers over her slight chest, Orihime might worry for her health.

Resting her head on the pillow, Orihime takes a moment to consider Rukia. Just Rukia, devoid of all the strain and suffering that she usually wears like a cowl around her. With her eyebrows softened in sleep, her usually-expressive lips parted slightly to breathe, her usual ethereal beauty isn't quite so far away anymore. Usually, she reminds Orihime of a star, fallen from orbit to just out of reach, but just now, with a tuft of hair stuck to her nose (too short to tuck reliably behind an ear), she seems tangible. Corporeal. 

Either way, Rukia is beautiful. But it isn't her physical beauty that makes Rukia attractive, Orihime decides. It's all those things that are divorced from her sleeping expression — the deep, unwavering loyalty. The fearless strength in the face of great adversity. The kindness behind her stubbornness. The way she looks at Ichigo when he needs her support.

The way she looks at Orihime, with something softer in her eyes.

Orihime realizes she is crying only after tears have started forming at the edges of her eyes. She's not going to let them. She's not going to let them, the enemies of Soul Society, take her precious, important friend away from her, no matter what. That's all.

Her hand comes up to brush the hair off Rukia's nose and then lingers there, resting on her cheek. This, too, is cold to the touch... but suddenly it is becoming warm again, as if the morning is breathing life back into her, and the hand darts away, afraid. Another thing of beauty — watching dark eyelashes flutter above irises so deep a blue that they're almost violet. The clench of her stomach returns, and Orihime can't quite call it jealousy anymore.

Rukia’s voice has an early morning gravel as she turns onto her side slightly. "Orihime? You were crying..."

"I-it's nothing!" she insists, and it's patently true! Because she has just too many emotions — her chest is _swimming_ with them — and she thinks she might start crying for real if she has to think too much about this.

Together they unfold themselves from the futon, then fix the coverlette properly. This bed, though clearly intended for a single person, fit both Rukia and Orihime easily; indeed, it is much larger than the single that Orihime sleeps at home. She wonders briefly what it must be like to live in such an extravagantly large place.

Probably not as nice as it seems, honestly. After all, Rukia's brother (whose fortune all this is in truth) had tried to kill her one time. 

It isn’t until they’re halfway to the kitchen, in search of breakfast, that Orihime realizes that Rukia didn’t call her ‘Inoue’, but by her first name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It can't be any later than nine in the morning by the time they finish their breakfast, which ends up being bread and juice. They sit at the kotatsu in relative silence, each lost in her own thoughts. 

Orihime starts to take Rukia's dishes back to the kitchen along with her own, but Rukia stops her short. "I'll get my own, at least," she says, already aware that Orihime isn't going to let her wash _both_ of their dishes. 

So together they make their way into the enormous, airy kitchen that Orihime presumes is usually populated by multiple servants, preparing the sorts of elaborate meals that the Kuchiki family expects. She recalls the extravagant foods that she'd gotten to experience during her month-long stay wistfully, scarcely able to imagine what it must be like to live like that for centuries. 

When they're done scrubbing the dishes from the morning and the previous day's lunch — it occurs to Orihime that they never did eat a meal the previous night, but they were _busy_  — Rukia turns to Orihime, hands dripping and eyes still lost in that deep thought. "Inoue. What are you going to do today?"

Orihime blushes inexplicably and keeps walking toward the bedroom — they needed to change into something more suitable for being out and about in the Seireitei, after all. "Um, well! I was thinking I might go visit Rangiku-san and... and see if maybe she has some clothes I can borrow, ehehehe..." Maybe she could ask Rangiku for some advice as well. "And then..."

And then she should train some more. She's nowhere near finished developing her new techniques, and she needs to get there _fast_. "I don't know! Maybe I'll go see if I can help at Fourth Division or something."

She can tell by the look in Rukia's eyes that her lie wasn't at all convincing, but the shorter woman thankfully says nothing. "Alright. I'm going to find Renji and see if he'll help me with a project."

Orihime wonders if Rukia's 'project' has anything to do with the circle of ice on the pond, but just now the image of Rukia sitting in meditation in front of the pond stops her short. She recalls the way the water's stillness and the late-afternoon sunset had combined to cast Rukia in deep shadow, almost making her look like part of the foundation of the stones. Her mouth is too dry for words.

They change into shihakusho after that — Rukia promises that it will be okay, for Orihime to borrow one of Byakuya's kosode. "He's not going to notice it's gone," she says, pressing it on Orihime, and she has to admit that she has a point. She does end up borrowing Rukia's hakama, though, since Byakuya's legs are so much longer than her own. The ill-fitting clothing drapes over her body, with the top too big and the bottom too small, but the issue seems unimportant.

"This reminds me of when we went into Soul Society the first time!" Orihime surprises herself by piping up as they make their way out of the Kuchiki estate gates and back to the rest of the Seireitei. "Ishida-kun and I dressed up like shinigami as a disguise. And then..." It was too long ago to remember all the details. Such simple days, in retrospect. Then again, she supposes the days just following their rescue of Rukia were only simple for them, the ryoka. A finger flies to her mouth as she ponders the events of that time. "And then we wore shinigami clothes for the rest of that week..."

Orihime nearly misses the tail end of Rukia's soft smile. Had... had Rukia always looked at her like that? "Yes... if I remember right, you borrowed Matsumoto-san's clothing then as well."

Orihime smiles broadly. She'd forgotten that part! She guesses she must've returned the clothing she'd stolen to the Twelfth Division officer who'd so graciously let her borrow them, right? "Yeah!"

They walk for a bit without saying much — even after just one more day, the Seireitei looks a lot better. The piles of rubble are almost all moved out of the centers of the streets, and some of the destroyed walls have even begun to be patched up! 

Plus, a lot more shinigami are out walking around, almost all of them carrying zanpakuto and few carrying paperwork. A few have building supplies in hand, but most seem to be ignoring the patched areas of the walls and buildings and instead are focused on something else. Their reiatsu smells like the eager flight of dragonflies, not the frantic scurrying of ants. Their energy has a _purpose_ , a purpose which they are eager to fulfill. The only true purpose — the purpose of survival.

However, almost all of them glance in their direction as they pass. (Not _their_  direction, Orihime notes, following the shinigamis' eyes. Rukia's direction. They're looking at Rukia.)

"What part of the Seireitei is this?" Orihime wonders. She doesn't know _all_  the Captains, but whoever is in charge of this particular Division seems to have motivated the shinigami — formerly petrified with fear — into action.

Apparently that's the wrong question, though, since as she turns to Rukia she notices the tightness around the edges of her mouth. "The Kuchiki has always ruled over Sixth Division, so that division is the one closest to their manor."

"Oh." She doesn't have to ask whether Byakuya is back yet — she remembers his injuries. He isn't back yet. But then– "Who..."

"Oi, move along! Next rotation. If you're not goin' somewhere, get outta the way!" 

Orihime and Rukia turn in unison toward the gap in the wall, through which they can see the edge of a training yard. When she looks closer, she can see the faint outlines of more shinigami — shinigami clashing with zanpakuto; shinigami aiming their kido strikes at targets. Shinigami training. Practicing. Preparing.

Rukia thumbs over her shoulder, not seeming to care that the gesture was aimed in the wrong direction. "It's Renji. Let's go."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Rukia! Inoue!" For his part, Renji seems thrilled to see them, or at least as thrilled as someone coated in sweat before ten in the morning can possibly be. "Good to see you two." 

The closer he walks, the more details Orihime's eyes pick out. It isn't just his headband that's coated in sweat; his entire shihakusho is soaked in it. Furthermore, that isn't the _only_  liquid on his uniform; if Orihime looks closely, she can see a few slashes through the fabric, with blood spangling the shitagi underneath. 

"You're hurt," she points out, moving to heal the injuries, but Renji waves her away.

"Slashes from training," he says. "Nothin' to worry about; I wouldn't be a lieutenant if I couldn't handle a little pain. Inoue, I never got a chance to thank you for–"

"Do that later, Renji," Rukia says, a bit impatiently, and Orihime blinks in surprise at the harsh tone the other woman has adopted. "I need your help with something. Something big."

Renji rubs his eye, wincing in what Orihime assumes is irritation. "Does it have'ta be right now? I just got everyone started with rotations..."

“Yes, it does! It's more important than that."

" _Oh_ , so I'm supposed to just let my squad run amuck while I'm trying to help you?" Renji sighs and rubs his head again. "Fine, fine. Must be really important if you interrupted me, knowing that." 

"Um!" Orihime interrupts suddenly, discomfort crawling at her intestines. "I'm gonna head out, then!" She doesn't think it's a good idea for her to let that jealous feeling rise again, and besides, Rukia has been taking measures to leave her in the dark about this 'project' of hers. Better not to pry and instead give her space, especially since she has been doing the exact same thing with her own powers. 

She doesn't know  _why_ exactly she had been so reticent. Everyone in the Seireitei is doing everything they can to get ready for the end of the world. But... she can't help but be a little afraid. Afraid of failure, and afraid of letting everyone down. Letting Rukia down, specifically.

Rukia and Renji, who are only a couple of meters apart and mirroring the same pose of animated discussion, glance at her briefly. Renji looks surprised, Rukia concerned. "Do you remember how to get there?" she asks.

Orihime nods. "I'll be fine!" she promises. "And if I get lost, I'll just ask someone!"

Rukia's expression softens slightly. "Come back here at sunset, okay? Don't overwork yourself."

As Orihime starts toward the division gates, she hears Renji put in, “If you’re back in time, we might be going to some sort of event later.” The sounds of Rukia continuing to argue with Renji fade into the background as she hurries away, and in spite of her own petty feelings, she can’t help but smile a little.

Though the distance from Sixth Division to Tenth isn't very far, Orihime does take two wrong turns, and as a result the otherwise straightforward journey takes over half an hour. She probably wouldn't have gotten lost at all, were it not for the thoughts that overwhelmed her.

It would be both easier and far more difficult than expected to forge herself some new abilities. Unlike what Orihime understands if shinigami powers, it isn't _time_ that is required to uncover the nuances of Shun Shun Rikka, though it will certainly will take time to master them.

Not time, but creativity, and confidence. The creativity to figure out what her additional powers ought to be and invent them as such. The confidence in her ability to use them.

'But how?' she'd asked, eyes wide as she looked at the six fairies. She was pretty sure she wasn't creative _or_ confident. But Shun’o had just laughed gently, knowingly, as though he had something to hide. As though she should already know what it is that she needs to do.

So, for lack of any better ideas, Orihime had decided to visit the most creative and confident person she knew. Though, she has to say, that idea had seemed a lot more clever before she was standing before the thrashed gates to the Tenth Division.

The scene in front of her is nothing like what she’d encountered in Sixth Division. The shinigami are sluggish, seeming downcast. They move in small gaggles, talking quietly as though afraid they’ll be overheard. Some carry zanpakuto, but many are empty-handed. None seem particularly combat-ready, though. And all of them, on occasion, seem to glance toward the office where the Captain and lieutenant do their work.

Orihime finds herself walking that way, attracting very little attention until she’s nearly there and it becomes apparent what she’s about to do. At that point, a few of the shinigami stop what they’re doing and point, and though she can’t make out their murmurs she knows that they must be about her.

Though the building itself is intact, the interior seems to have been collectively knocked askew by the mad rush of panicking shinigami that had accompanied the invasion. Tapestries fallen from walls, paperwork fluttering aimlessly, office doorways still partially ajar — the scene is a startling departure of the organized and neat division run by Captain Hitsugaya. 

And when the Captain himself is the one to slide open the office door at her soft knock, Orihime takes a step back before trying to compose herself — it isn’t just the _division_  that’s a mess. Hitsugaya looks as though he hasn’t slept, though not for lack of trying, if the flattened hair on one side of his head is anything to judge by. He isn’t wearing his Captain’s haori, only the standard shinigami uniform. He isn't even carrying Hyorinmaru strapped to his back like usual.

All in all, he looks exactly like what he is — a child with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“Inoue,” he says, seeming a bit surprised as well. Has news of Orihime’s presence in Seireitei not spread? Or was he expecting someone else? “You’re looking for Matsumoto, aren’t you. Well, come on in.” 

The office is as much a mess as the rest of the Division, with the added bonus of a couple of shattered windows. She wonders briefly how _that_ happened. Other than that and the scattered paperwork, though, there's no sign that anything has happened at all. 

"Captain, I brought you some medicine from Fourth–" Rangiku Matsumoto breaks off from barging into the room to notice and smile at Orihime. "Orihime! I didn't see you at Fourth Division last time I– last time I was there." There are unspoken words in that pause.

Orihime nods. "Me and Kuchiki-san left to stay at the mansion. How's... how is Kira-san?"

Rangiku sets the bottle of medicine on Hitsugaya's desk, and the Captain looks at it plaintively. Clearly, the errand hadn't been his idea. "He's... getting better. It's been hard for him, since he woke up... a lot of his Division died."

Orihime remembers the bodies strewn around, smashed into the pavement, dismembered. She shudders, sickened at her own failure once more. Oh, why couldn't she have saved everyone?

Instead of dwelling on this, however, she changes the subject. "What's the medicine for? Captain Hitsugaya, if you're hurt, please let me–"

The Captain interrupts. "It's a sleep aid. Forget about it." He walks to the door, grabbing the zanpakuto from a shelf nearby. "Matsumoto, I'm going to go train. Join me once you're done here." And then he is gone, leaving Rangiku and Orihime alone in the room.

"Is he okay?" Orihime asks, casting a worried glance after Hitsugaya. 

Rangiku shakes her head, but Orihime isn't sure if that's meant to be a response to her question. "Some of the Quincy stole our bankai. Four of them. Captain... he's always relied a lot on Hyorinmaru, even outside of battle." 

Orihime moves toward the door. "But--! If something happened to it, maybe I can fix it! Maybe I can–"

"Don't try it," says Rangiku, and though she doesn't move, Orihime stops in her tracks. "He won't want that. Especially since it might not work. Then he'll just fall into despair." 

Orihime makes solid eye contact with Rangiku. For a moment she considers defying the lieutenant, in spite of everything — going after Toshiro anyway, seeing if Souten Kisshun would restore things to how they should be. But Rangiku looks almost as sleep-deprived as Hitsugaya. Ocean-blue eyes, just slightly bloodshot, stare out from beneath unadorned eyelashes, more challenging than Orihime thinks she’s ever seen them. As if she knows _exactly_ what the girl was considering just seconds before.

So she steps back. “Okay then."

She watches those lips soften. “I already asked him. He doesn’t want any false hopes, and you need to save your energy anyway.” Once again the bottle of medicine moves — this time to the table in front of the couch. “You didn’t come all this way to worry over Captain, did you?"

Orihime walks to the couch, leans on its back. Stands on her tiptoes and presses her heels flat against the ground. “Rangiku-san… I need your help."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s still far from sundown by the time Orihime leaves Tenth Division and begins walking back toward the Sixth. She doesn’t want to be late, after all. Doesn’t want to make Rukia worry.

 

_(“Ooh? You’re gonna level up, hmm?” Some of the sticky-sweet charm returns to Rangiku’s voice after Orihime explains her predicament. Maybe it’s the thought of a challenge, or perhaps the idea of hope returning again. Either way, Orihime nods. She will do it. She **will**  do it.)_

 

She pauses in the road as four shinigami carry a fallen wooden beam out of the way. Crumbling walls are everywhere, as are the charred remains of various structures. But she’s used to it by now.

She’s less used to having to pass by injured shinigami — covered in bandages, carrying out their business without stopping to consider their wounds — and continue on her way. _Conserve your strength, girl. You never know when you’ll need it._

 

_(Rangiku just laughs at her question, as though the idea is ridiculous. “You’re already creative, Orihime,” she says, “and confidence isn’t something real. You just pretend like you know what you’re doing. And it’ll come naturally.”_

_In response to Orihime’s stunned stare, she taps the girl’s nose with one fingernail, perfectly groomed and shiny in spite of everything. “You’ve been confident before, right? You’ve fought battles. And you won them.” Suddenly that lighthearted cast of the eyes doesn’t seem so insignificant. “Why? What were you doing?”)_

 

The bag of Rangiku’s clothing, slung over Orihime’s shoulder, swings aimlessly as she passes the Eight and Seventh Divisions. Both are in an upheaval, it seems, though Orihime can’t pinpoint the source of the chaos.  It doesn’t matter. She has other things she needs to do. 

 

_(“I was…” The answer, though several seconds after the question hung in the air, comes naturally. “I had to protect people. They needed me, so I protected them.” She’d tried, and sometimes she’d failed. But she’d tried again. And again._

_“That’s right,” answers Rangiku. “So who are you going to protect this time? It can’t be everyone, you know.”)_

 

After spending four hours in a Tenth Division space reserved for meditation, the life forces around her are almost overwhelming. Shinigami everywhere — not ants rushing to fortify their mountain, but people. Individual souls with lives and goals and families. How can she _not_  protect everyone? All of these people deserve to live! She has to– 

 

_(“Don’t forget what you’re trying to accomplish~” Rangiku says as she pulls the door shut, leaving Orihime alone to her thoughts. So what **is**  she trying to accomplish? What is she going to do here?)_

 

As the Sixth Division comes into view, her eyes narrow in realization. Callous, perhaps, but things are suddenly very clear. She doesn’t need to protect everyone.

She only needs to protect a handful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! In the meantime, both of us wrote some additional femslash, which I highly recommend. 
> 
> Also, thanks for any heads-ups regarding slight spelling mishaps! I write a large portion of these chapters on my tablet and phone, so sometimes I miss the weird autocorrect things it does. Sorry about that.


	6. The Breaking Point [Rukia]

Together, Rukia and Renji watch Orihime wander away, the shape of her ill-fitting clothes covering her silhouette. Rukia resists the urge to gnaw on her lip. She knew it would be silly for Orihime to trail around after her like a lost puppy, but she can’t stop herself from worrying.

At any rate, Rukia can’t focus on that right now. She can’t protect anybody, much less Orihime, if she doesn’t concentrate on what she has to do. Her gaze swings back up from Orihime to the looming shape of Renji. “What kind of ‘event’ were you talking about.”

Renji is peering at Orihime, too, but he’s not really seeing her. His voice is distracted when he replies. “Combination wake-slash-last rites. Some folks want to get together for a ‘This might be the end of the world again’ party before we start launching counter-measures and really buckling down for the next attack.”

“That’s…” Rukia isn’t sure how to keep the judgment out of her voice. She narrows her eyes at her feet. “Morbid.”

A large finger wags at her, Renji’s other hand wiping sweat from under his bandana as he turns away. The rise and fall of his chest is labored. “Don’t judge. There’s a lot of stress going on. People's friends have died, they think they’re gonna die, too, and we need them a little motivated to not die. We can’t just cart people off inna’ a war-zone when they’ve given up before the battle has started.”

Is that how that works? Rukia has never been a ‘people’ person, but she can see how someone like Renji or others who deal with the raw emotions of their soldiers would see that as therapeutic. Surely, Rukia would be significantly more miserable these past few hours alone without Orihime reminding her to eat and sleep and be a person between all the anxiety.

“Let’s walk this way.” Renji turns and waves her over with a swinging arm. “Whatever you wanna discuss, I don’t want it to be in-”

“Why did you lie to Inoue about being hurt?” Rukia blurts, brows still knit together. She can’t help it, Renji always brings out the part of Rukia that is the most obstinate and rude. Suppose it’s the kid inside her.

Renji looks over his shoulder once, looking at her with surprise. “It’s nothing, I’m just a little banged up from training. Don’t get distracted.”

Rukia feels her lips dip into a deep frown, arms folding over her chest as she reluctantly follows Renji to the porch of a Sixth Division office building. It looks to be mostly empty, supported by the distant bluster of officers elsewhere but still within earshot. Rukia hears the chanting of someone leading drills in Renji’s absence. 

Rukia has walked these same paths so many times before, never actually seeing the Sixth but looking at her feet while her brother looked straight ahead. It gives her an eerie feeling to be here sometimes, reminding her of the messy years and the tangled paths between Byakuya, Renji, and herself.  
  
She watches as Renji sits himself down on the porch, better to be eye level with her smaller stature. “What’s up?”

“Do you…” Rukia’s voice is tentative before she realizes it is. Why does this feel so personal? It shouldn’t be, it’s just battle technique. “Do you remember getting your bankai?”

Does she imagine it or does Rukia see a little color drain out of Renji’s face, jet black tattoos standing out against the skin. Renji’s inked brows furrow. “Yeah, it was only a few years ago. Why?”

“What was it like, exactly?”

Blunt nails scratch at Renji’s cheek, Rukia watches his eyes hover somewhere above her head. “Weird. Fast. Kinda panicked.” He seems to realize latently that he admitted to being scared, and finds himself a more serious expression to look at Rukia again. “You gotta remember, this was when you were about to be executed-”

“Yes, I was there.” Rukia dryly adds

“-So I had a real great motivation to come up with something cool at the last minute.” Renji finishes. His knee bounces against the porch. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about it that much. You tryna’ get your own bankai, huh?”

Rukia folds her arms over her chest, body tightening. She tries, once again, to find Sode no Shirayuki’s breathy, rasping voice in the corners of her mind. She tries to bring the image she sees of the perfect rainbow lake and what she sees of the Sixth Division before her eyes into one place, but they don’t mesh right. 

“Yeah. I think Sode no Shirayuki is telling me that it’s nearly time, and I- I want to get my bankai.” Rukia forces the energy into her voice. She does. She wants to go into battle, not have them fought for her. Her fists are tense. “I want to use it to win the war."

“That’s great!” Renji’s eyes fall too quickly from her own. He smiles when he stands up in a way that’s too forced. “I mean, if you’re sure. Look, I gotta get back to the squad, but don’t obsess about this too much. You can’t force it, Rukia, and sometimes even your own zanpakuto doesn’t really know what to do. Don’t worry if you think you’re ready but it turns out you aren’t.”

“Is that how it was with Zabimaru?” Rukia asks, brows raising. Surely, Shirayuki always knows what to do. She practically oozes grace and wisdom.

The grin on Renji’s lips descend, and at full height Rukia can see the dark rings under his eyes and the dark stains that trickle down his shitagi. Maybe taking on leading the entire Sixth Division by himself agreed with the squad, but it looked like a steep price on him. 

“No? Not really.” Renji contradicts himself, his voice sounds like he isn’t sure. He points towards where the drills are beginning to cool down, the ringing voices starting to fade. “Look, we can talk about this later. I gotta go-”

Rukia’s brows shoot up, she feels a pit open up inside her. Something feels… off. She has the same growing coldness spreading from her chest outwards, like she did years ago. “Are you trying to lie to me?”

She expects him to look guilty, give her a hangdog look like he usually does when she calls him out. Instead, his gaze hardens. “No! Damn, why would I lie about something like this?”

“Then why did you say I might not be ready?” The words fall from Rukia’s lips faster than she can think them, her hands thrown into the air at her sides. “I came to talk to you because I thought you could help! And we need as much help as we can get. Why would you think that I can’t get bankai like you did?”

“Because mine is broken!”

His voice booms. Renji’s fists are at his side, clenching, and his eyes are blown wide like he’s scared and furious all at once. The outburst of emotions in them catch Rukia like a tidal wave, her surprise and her disappointment and her rising sense of dread freezing her blood.

Rukia can hear her breath in her ear, she tries to think back to the battle that was hardly even a day and a half ago. Renji didn’t have his bankai stolen, did he? No, that was definitely not him. “What do you mean?"

“I mean- I mean it’s fucking _broken,_ okay?” Renji paces around the porch like a nervous animal, hands tugging at his red hair. “I mean, I knew it had been broken for a while, but then it just- now I can’t get Zabimaru to talk to me at all, I think he’s shutting me out or ignoring me or… I just know it’s not gonna work. It’s gone.” 

Gone. Can a zanpakuto just… be gone? Renji has always seemed so in tune with Zabimaru, efficiently controlling his shikai in a way that put just a touch of jealousy in Rukia’s mind. Sode no Shirayuki was powerful and graceful but messy, to say the least.

“You’re stressed.” Rukia supplies. She tries to sound soothing, but she’s pretty sure she fails. She’s never been good at problems she couldn’t resolve with a friendly punch in the arm and a stern word of encouragement. “You nearly died two days ago, maybe it’s blocking your connection.”

Renji is turned away from her, but Rukia hears his dry bark of laughter sounding out of place in this atmosphere. “Yeah, well it’s not gonna be very relaxing on the battlefield, that’s for sure.”

She doesn’t know where to leave it after that. Accidents and bumps are just things that happe in their lives, after all. At least it’s not something like Inoue getting kidnapped again. At least nobody is actively in danger, and Zabimaru’s bankai was the only key to saving them. Renji losing access to his bankai is lower on the scale of bad things that could potentially happen. 

Still, it’s… it’s no good news. Should Renji even go into battle in the state that he’s in? No, of course he should. He’s still got shikai after all. The only thing that’s changed is that they’re in the same boat, now. They’re finally on the same level again. 

“I’m sorry.” Renji says. He wears humility about as well as he wears brutal honesty, and it jars Rukia to see him without a sarcastic remark or a snarky joke. “I can’t help you.”

Rukia is struck by an urge, a desire to reach out and lay her palm on his back. To squeeze his shoulder like when they were kids. But they refrain from physical contact these days- Renji is her best friend, but it’s not like how they were when they were kids, after all.

It hurts her brain. And her heart, but Rukia’s brain is really what she needs most of the time. She wishes every friendship that wandered into her life could be as easy as her relationship as Orihime. Just a slow and steady progression of fondness, of always finding a piece of a home in Orihime’s kindness and compassion. Orihime brings out the words and the heart in Rukia, and without those things she’s lost. 

But she’ll try. Rukia will try, at least right now, to be the kind of person who deserves Orihime as a friend. 

“Maybe you still can.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a duty that cannot be unburdened. It falls squarely upon Rukia’s shoulders, but that’s what she wanted, right?

The Thirteenth Division needs it’s lieutenant, after all. 

Rukia’s squad is a little more somber than the Sixth. She sees them move like black shadows across the courtyard, busy and alive but with shoulders hunched with fear and exhaustion. A moment is taken to recall that Rukia should have been here hours ago. These soldiers are her soldiers, and they need all the help the can get. 

“Hello, Lieutenant.” Many of them greet her, though the name ‘Kuchiki-san’ still hangs on the tip of their tongues. Rukia greets them as professionally as she can manage, like she isn’t wishing for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow her for her absence. 

“Captain Ukitake is in, correct?”

“He’s in a meeting with the other captains right now, but he should be returning soon.”

There’s palatable relief that she’s back. Rukia tries to take a page out of the Good Vice-Captain handbook and starts doling out orders. “Divide into two groups. One can work on drills, the other can lead the rebuilding efforts around the division. Where are Sentaro and Kiyone- with Captain Ukitake. Right. Well, when they get back I’ll ask them to lead one group each. In five hours, switch over. First team can start drills with me.”

The Thirteenth Division isn’t small, by any means. None of the squads are, even during their lull periods, and the Thirteenth had a fairly long lull period. Rukia has half of the division assembled in front of her and waiting attentively. 

Sode no Shirayuki in hand, Rukia does her best to lead the team through warm-ups, then standard forms, then advanced. The moves are easy, Rukia’s body follows the procedures with practiced grace and Shirayuki is less of a weapon and more of a baton with which to demonstrate particular moves. 

The tricky part are the things that you can’t just show through doing the stances right. Things a lieutenant should be able to convey, like power and confidence. Things that Kaien was always good at.

At a good stopping point, Rukia sends her soldiers to get water while she wipes the sweat from her brow on her sleeve. She’s getting used to the authority. Rukia has always pretended to throw her weight around, sure that if she says something with absolute certainty then people will believe it to be true. It’s hard to do that when people’s lives could be on the line. She has to make eye-contact with shinigami she’s known for years. Strong, wise, capable shinigami that Rukia leapfrogged over to obtain her seat. What if someone died because they trusted Rukia too much?

_You have to trust yourself before they can trust you._

Sode no Shirayuki’s voice is like a sharp ache, like Rukia swallowed a mouthful of solid ice and it’s stinging her brain and her throat. So now she speaks up, hmm?

“Lieutenant Kuchiki, are you alright?”

Rukia squeezes her eyes shut and waves away the concern. “Yes, just thinking. Thank you.”

“Rukia!”

Oh thank God. Rukia stops herself from exhaling a sigh, turning around so that she can see her captain approach the training field with her two third seats bringing up the rear. 

He looks tired, but that’s not very startling. Even on average days and wearing a sunny smile, Captain Ukitake can look frayed and uncomfortable. Now, with everyone restless and pushing their limits, Ukitake looks remarkably well considering. 

Kiyone bounds ahead of him with a determined look on her face, her high collar crooked on her neck. “Sorry we’re late lieutenant! How can we help!”

“I was just halfway through drills. Can you take over this side while Sentaro leads the rebuilding team?”

Sentaro sidles up besides Kiyone and they both give her a salute before dividing to their squad duties with vigor. They don’t even squabble with each other in the process or try to turn their assigned tasks into a competition, which Rukia takes as a sign that things really have become serious. At least she succeeded in getting everyone productive.

A hand descends upon her shoulder, Ukitake’s skin is cold but again not in a way that deviates from the norm all that much. However, his gaze seems stern and confused, Rukia wonders what she could have possibly done wrong in the thirty seconds since he arrived.

“Rukia, what are you doing here?” He asks, voice laced with concern for her wellbeing. Rukia, truly, can’t think of an appropriate response for that. Her job, right?

“I’m- I thought we might get more done if we organized teams.” Rukia explained, not quite sure what part she’s supposed to be uncertain about.

“I mean, shouldn’t you be with Miss Inoue or Lieutenant Abarai?” Ukitake asks, completely in earnest. “You’re so often in the thick of these things, I assumed you would be preparing alongside them.”

Goodness, is that all they know her for around here? Just ending up in the middle of trouble. Rukia tries not to flush out of embarrassment. “Well… sure, but I’m also a lieutenant of the Thirteenth. I have to be here for the division, too.”

“Oh, yes. You’re correct.” Ukitake smiles, brows rising. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t keep up with your obligations. Only that in… odd times such as these, we all have to go off-script. You in particular have always managed to perform well under stress, once you’ve been pushed out of your comfort zone.”

The way he says it so gently and with a sunny disposition makes Rukia feel bad that she’s a little offended. What exactly is Rukia’s ‘comfort zone’? She’s pretty sure she has to stop feeling uncomfortable first in order to have one.

“Um, okay.” Rukia pushes that thought away. “In your meeting, did you discuss what we’re going to do about-” She tries to think of what in particular they should focus on, whether it’s defending Soul Society or killing the Wandenriech before they can hurt more people or some combination of the two. Lamely, she ends with just repeating, “What we’re going to do.”

At those words, Ukitake’s shoulders lowered and he appears to visibly deflate. A few years ago, Rukia might have been fooled by that, but she knows better now. She allow her captain to go easy on her just because of her inexperience. “Ah, right. Why don’t you come inside so we can discuss that.”

 

* * *

 

The trouble with Captain Ukitake is that it can he hard to know what he’s thinking. Rukia has known him for years, as the gentlest soul who gave her a place to call home in the division and the man who gambled on Kaien’s life. Rukia trusts him, for better or worse, because out of all the authority figures in the Seireitei, her’s is still the safest.

So she is unsurprised when Ukitake’s voice hardens to its leaderly edge as soon as they are situated inside his office, shedding the softer tone he uses in front of the public eye. “The issue with the quincy invaders is that we are unable to launch a counter-attack or do much in the ways of taking pre-emptive measures.”

Ukitake recounts his experience during the first attack to Rukia with his hands folded on his lap. Their appearance all across Soul Society, the death of the Captain-Commander and the bankais of Captains Kuchiki, Soi Fon, Komamura, and Hitsugaya being stolen.

“Considering the circumstances, we thought it best not to assemble Central 46 to decide on a new head captain at this time. We simply don’t have the extra energy to spare jumping through the usual bureaucratic hoops.” Ukitake explains, though Rukia doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that he, Captain Kyoraku and Captain Unohana will be calling most of the shots from now on. They were the closest to the Captain-Commander. They know how he would lead.

“We have asked Captain Kurotsuchi to dedicate all of the Twelfth’s resources into investigating the stolen bankai phenomena. Since we’ve only known of one quincy in current existence, there’s a lot of room to explore. In addition, we reached out to Kisuke Urahara in the World of the Living for his input.” Ukitake goes on. “But aside from that, our only viable strategy is to wait for the quincy army to make its second strike. Without the element of surprise, we may have a better shot to counter their attack.”

That seems… risky. Of course, Rukia can’t think of any better solutions than waiting for the enemy to reveal themselves. You can’t fight what you can’t see or touch. Ukitake doesn’t seem terribly happy about that, either.

“Urahara-san and his team seem to be taking point in the Hueco Mundo situation, but we don’t know how severe that atmosphere is either..” Ukitake’s voice sounds stern, his hands folded in his lap. Rukia wishes he wouldn’t say this with such gravity, as if she doesn’t know the stakes, but she also knows he can’t truly stop himself. Maybe this is how he anchors himself as well.

“So what is the plan? Just wait until they appear again and hope that we hit them this time?” Rukia forgets her tone as panic sets into her voice, spreads like an itch she can’t scratch over her throat. It isn’t the first time she’d had the odds stacked against her, but at least in Los Noches she was at full strength. She had Renji in one piece, and Ichigo, Sado, and Uryuu at her side. She had Orihime, somewhere up there and needing to be saved. There are only so many people Rukia’s body can be a barrier for. 

“That is about all I can tell you to do.” Ukitake says, tone flitting back to gentle and kindly. He says it in the way he says things when he wants Rukia to figure out her own solutions. Like there’s a puzzle that she’s not solving. 

It’s quiet like that for a few minutes. Captain and Lieutenant, sitting and not speaking. Rukia wonders if Kaien was ever in this situation, or if this kind of gravity is reserved for the end of the world. Probably the latter. 

Finally, Ukitake breaks the spell with a strained smile. “After you finish your duties as vice-captain, you should go and meet up with your friends, Rukia. There’s strength in numbers, and some extra strength can’t hurt!” 

Rukia would like to protest. Throw in some ‘ _Are you sure_ ’s and _‘I’m happy to help_ ’s here and there. But he’s right.

And Rukia knows, as she bows to her captain and stands up to leave, the people she wants to be around right now. Who knows if they’ll have another day to do so?

 


End file.
